


her eyes and words are so icy (oh, but she burns)

by infinitefire



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Communication, F/M, Fluff, but mostly Good Communication, calanthe gets to be soft for once, calanthe secretly loves eist's dumbass comments, eist is an idiot but he's calanthe's idiot, no beta we die like men, some minor Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitefire/pseuds/infinitefire
Summary: Calanthe doesn't say "I love you." Not out loud. But she tries to say it in other ways.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	her eyes and words are so icy (oh, but she burns)

**Author's Note:**

> me? finishing ANOTHER one of the 10+ wips i have accumulated since watching this show? it's more likely than you think
> 
> title from "cherry wine" by hozier

“You’re late, Eist,” Calanthe hisses as soon as he walks through the doors. Her glare is harsher than usual. The royal advisors do not turn their heads, but some pairs of eyes shift to the side to glance at the king.

“Apologies,” he says, taking his usual seat. “Busy morning.”

The queen closes her eyes and lets out an irritated sigh. “And what exactly were you doing that was so important?”

Eist grins wickedly. “You.” Then, a moment later, as an afterthought, “My queen.”

She does not respond (really, there’s no proper way to respond to that, not in front of all these people, not the way she wants to), merely fixes him with a cold, hard stare.

Usually, when he makes such comments, she rolls her eyes and tells him to stop acting like a fool, with no real anger in her voice. This reaction is unfamiliar, and he doesn’t always know how to read her expression when there are no words to accompany it. He quickly composes himself.

The flash of something like confusion or hurt in his eyes does not escape Calanthe’s notice, nor does the unusual silence that follows. The serious expression he puts on when she chides him for his antics and informality usually contains a hint of a smirk, and another ridiculous remark is on the tip of his tongue. But not today.

“I want a word with you, Eist. In private,” she says, tone carefully neutral. “But, seeing as you’ve interrupted, it will have to wait until we’re done talking business. Now, as I was saying…”

The meeting seems to drag by more slowly than it should. He doesn’t remember the royal advisors having this much to say in the past, or spending so much time making illogical points to argue with Calanthe. Eist butts in a few times to cut off some particularly futile arguments, throws in a few words to express his agreement with his wife in the hopes of speeding things along. He isn’t sure whether to read the looks Calanthe shoots him when he does this as gratitude or warning. Mostly, he stays silent, holds back the foolish remarks he usually makes every now and then to try and draw a chuckle out of his wife. Playfully annoying her is one thing, but angering her is another, and he worries he may have crossed that line.

Finally, the meeting ends. Calanthe isn’t looking at Eist when she demands everyone leave the room but tells him to stay, so he can’t quite read her face until the door shuts, leaving them with the room to themselves.

Calanthe rises and steps away from the table. He follows suit. He opens his mouth to say something, to apologize, to explain, to ask what he did to make her so angry so he knows to never do it again. 

She doesn’t say what she wanted to say when he walked in, what she still wants to say now, doesn’t say what she’s thinking. Not out loud. But she tries to say it in the way she kisses him, fiercely, with everything she has; in the way she presses every part of herself up against him, moves her hands over his body as if she can’t touch enough of him at once; in the pressure behind her every touch—considerable, but not quite as much as she’s capable of, like she’s trying as hard as she can to hold onto him, but she’s afraid she’ll break him if she applies too much force.

She listens to the surprised but pleased sounds he makes, feels the vibrations in her mouth, searching for meaning in them, for a sign that he understands what she’s trying to tell him. 

When she pulls back for air, she opens her eyes, searches for understanding in his. Then she kisses him again, hard, determined to get her point across. She threads her hands into his hair, pulls gently, and feels his arms wrap around her waist. She kisses him harder.

“Calanthe,” he breathes when the kiss finally breaks.

She brings one hand down to his shoulder and lets the other one fall to her side so she can lay her head on his chest. She takes a few moments to catch her breath before speaking.

“You were going to say something. What was it?”

“I was going to say I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“I fear I crossed a line.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did not mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t embarrass me.” She pokes his side playfully. “Only yourself.”

“What would you have me do differently?”

“Nothing,” she exhales.

He looks at her softly, gently, with wonder. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” She runs a hand down his cheek, smiles at him. He’s seen many of her smiles, but none like this one—tender and vulnerable, with a hint of something desperate. Then it shifts, becomes more playful. “Except perhaps be on time.”

Eist chuckles a little. “But you don’t want me to stop acting like a fool?”

Calanthe smiles, shakes her head. “Much as I say that, no. You’re  _ my  _ fool. That’s what I …” she trails off, closes her eyes for a moment. “It’s one of my favorite things about you, Eist.”

When she opens her eyes again, they are clouded with sorrow and regret. It pains her to keep her emotional distance, but she doesn’t quite know how to bridge this gap. She’s not quite sure she’s ready. 

He places his hand on her shoulder, rubs comfortingly, looks deep into her eyes, watching the subtle changes in her expression, until he’s sure she knows he understands. 

The pain fades from her expression. She places her head back on his chest and presses a kiss there in thanks, then nuzzles her head into his shoulder.

“I love you,” Eist whispers into her ear, bringing the words she couldn’t say out into the open.

She returns the sentiment as best she can: she kisses his neck and lets her lips linger there until he brushes her hair back behind her ear and gently lifts her head. A brief kiss to her cheek, and he smiles up at her adoringly.

Calanthe smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> i very much appreciate any and all comments, which keep me on my bullshit


End file.
